AA's for Quitters

“What’ll ya have?” As I toss a coaster to where the big bearded Harley guy is sitting.
Never did I dream that one day I would be planted on the other side of the bar. But here I stand, with a smile and ready to serve up your favorite poison. Not only am I the addict, I have become the dealer now—except it’s legal. That will be my day today. By the looks of the weather and how gloomy it is, I predict it may be slower than usual.

Last night, Madelene and I went to go to the liquor store. Really, I know what you’re thinking, I should get my butt to AA, but no, I can’t drink all that coffee. It makes me too nervous. That stuff is worse than wine!

Getting back to walking into the liquor store…It’s like a warehouse full of toys for me.
“Mad! Come here! Look what they got!”
“You want white this time Deb? You usually drink cabernet.”

“I know, but I’m in the mood for some chardonnay and Chinese food tonight.”
“Oooh, that sounds good!”
Mad said, apparently tired of washing down her food with shots of vodka. I needed to turn her on to wine again. She’s been slipping.

We both get up to the counter, and I ask the boy at the cash register if I could get five mega millions.
“Uhhhhh, okay. You gotta pay for that separate you know?”
“Fine. Five megas please.” I shot back, frustrated with his punk ass ‘I hate my job’ attitude.
“Heh—yeh, umm, errr, you’re the one millionth customer, so like, yeah, you get another ticket for free.” The kid said.
“Hey! That’s great! Maybe this will be the lucky one—I won’t forget your face.” I said, laughing at the way this kid reminded me of Beavis & Butthead. I knew he had a familiar laugh. We got back home, and yes, we drank both the bottles of wine. I was born an alcoholic. Really. When my mother was driving to the hospital to give birth to me, she had just finished a martini. Back then, people smoke, drank and what not while they were pregnant. My right foot came out of my mother as they were driving off to the hospital. I must have been drunk to even consider making such a move, but I was feeling good. I wanted to come out and greet the world with a smile. And I did. Even though it was a traumatic birth, I was a breech baby, I came out of my mother's womb smiling, and yes—laughing. Tis the reason why I love martinis so much. Ah, memories.

Okay---backtrack the convo here. Sorry, I’m all over the place, but I’m in a rush to get ready and get the hell outa’ here for the day. This post is so out of my character, and yes, I am hung over.

Dilemma: To wear the ring? Or to not wear the ring? That is the question! I need your opinion. If I am going to be working at this bar for a long time, shouldn’t I hide the fact that I have a ring on my finger? (Especially while I wash glasses) Yeah, I tried that excuse; didn’t fly. Handling customers of all different types, and trying to make as many tips as possible, I think it would be more lucrative to appear as though I were single. Don’t you agree? It’s not as if I’m gonna hop over the other side of the bar and jump on the back of Bubba’s Harley—I just want tips!

Your opinion is greatly appreciated. Enjoy your day, and try to learn from our friends in Spain and France---eat whatever you want, but drink ~lots~, so it drowns out any cholesterol. That's my excuse...and I'm sticking with it. Cheers!